


Carry the torch for me

by uumuu



Series: Fëanorians in Beleriand [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 16:14:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18318803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: Curufin explains to Maedhros how his new prosthetic works.





	Carry the torch for me

**Author's Note:**

> Cáno = Maglor  
> Turco = Celegorm

“With these you can grip, or hold on to things. They're nowhere as versatile as fingers, but they do stretch a bit and if you pick up, say, a glass they won't let it slip until you put it down. You might even try some archery.” 

Maedhros's eyes avidly followed the movement of Curufin's fingers as they traced the prosthetic newly attached to his elbow: a perfect replica of an elven arm, with bones and muscles and tendons crafted of a pale metal alloy, but with a bird-of-prey's talons in place of a hand. 

“If you whisk you arm down hard enough a blade will pop out of the wrist here,” Curufin went on, touching the spot. “The blade is fitted inside the prosthetic, and it will turn your arm into a weapon at need.”

“That sounds like potential trouble.”

Curufin grinned. “There's a safety catch, of course. In any case the blade needs a very deliberate, very powerful movement to slid out. You won't accidentally stab our dear uncle to death while waving your arms around at a council.”

Maedhros chuckled.

“I will show you how to do it later.”

“How to accidentally stab our dear uncle?” Maedhros couldn't help jesting.

“That too, if you wish,” Curufin replied in a serious tone, but with mirth in his eyes, reliving for a moment the playfulness that had often underlain his conversations with Maeedhros in happier times before he resumed his explanation. “Other weapons could be fitted on the back of the prosthetic, I was thinking maybe an axe with a hefty enough blade to smash wooden shields or chop heads off. Or you could strap a shield around the arm part here, I have crafted small round shields with a spike in the middle that will not hinder your movement and that you could use to attack, too. In either case you'd fix them in place by means of fastenings you can operate with your hand, so you won't have to rely on anyone else. And in these slots here,” Curufin's hand tapped vein-like bulges near the wrist, “I've stored poisonous darts. You just have to release the catch at the base with your other hand and slash your arm in whatever direction you want to shoot them.”

“Way to turn a stump into a killing machine!” Maedhros lifted his new limb to his face. For how big it was, and how sturdy it felt, it was light, but not too light. It was a thrilling sensation, having his right arm go its full length again, knowing that he had uses for it, however limited. “Fine work, little brother, very fine work.”

“I still would like to try crafting a proper hand replacement,” Curufin said, turning to the prosthetic hand on the desk in front of Maedhros, a fully-formed hand with fingers that could actually be bent like real fingers. “The only problem are the nerves. If I had a Silmaril it would be easy, I think. There's so much of father in them I could just...” he trailed off, looking away. “But maybe I could work something out with Cáno.”

Maedhros made a non-committal remark that Curufin didn't hear. He had picked up the hand and was examining it as if it was the first time he ever saw it. Maedhros studied it too. He wasn't sure how he felt about it: it made him think of an oversized, grotesque doll's hand.

“Take all the time you wish with your research. I trust you, brother,” he said after a time. “For now, stay with me.”

Curufin put the hand down and faced him again. “I will stay with you for a few days and train with you, so you can show off at our dear uncle's feast.”

“Stay with me until I leave.”

“But that's in weeks!”

Maedhros stood up from his desk. “Your wife and son can do without you for a while, and Turco can run Himlad with them. We haven't been together alone, you and I, in what feels like forever.”

Curufin's brow creased at that with worry. “Are you sure?”

“I'm not going to get over Father's death any more than you are, even if I don't look at your face.”

“Well,” Curufin said, but it came out a little strangled, “I have greatly missed our time together, too.” 

Maedhros smiled, the sort of smile that made even his scars look an integral part of his still arresting looks. “Let's go then. There are a few things I would like to show you. I've had a small garden planted in one of the more sheltered courtyards. Ah, by the way,” Maedhros halted abruptly on their way to the door, “...do you think you could fit a small hoe or rake to the prosthetic?” 

“A hoe?”

“I don't think I'll have much time to devote to gardening but if I do have some, it would make things easier for me.”

“...Of all the possible things you ask me for a hoe!”

“Why not?” Maedhros nudged Curufin with his new shining claws. “So, can you?”

Curufin laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> I tend to headcanon that Maedhros's amputation ended up taking most of his forearm as well as his hand. I also headcanon that Curufin did all the anatomy studies in order to try and craft the best possible prosthetic for his brother (I do think the Noldor had some knowledge of anatomy in Valinor already - smithing and mining are two of the most dangerous jobs ever, for one - but of course Beleriand is where plenty of corpses for anatomic research were).
> 
> This could be a sort of prequel to _Hands Unclean_.


End file.
